


The Invisible Prince

by Tu_Er_Shen



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Anal Sex, Auguste is a corpse so...yeah, Captive Prince - Freeform, Fanart, Illustrated, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Laurent is a witch, Love Magic, M/M, Magic AU, Mentions of Death, Oral Sex, Witchcraft AU, capri, capribigbang2k18, implied csa, love potions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-25 12:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16660924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tu_Er_Shen/pseuds/Tu_Er_Shen
Summary: Laurent is a solitary witch and a prince whose right to the throne was erased when he was cast away by his power-hungry uncle who was afraid of his power. Living on the edge of the city, he begrudgingly makes simples and spells by day for the townspeople who come to him in order to get by, while at night he toils to no avail trying to find a spell, a curse, anything that will return to him the one thing he wants: his brother. One day, Damen turns up at his door guided by a compulsion spell placed on him by an unknown witch or warlock. Unable to accomplish any progress toward resurrecting his dead brother while Damen is present and fawning over him, Laurent proceeds to try and break the spell, making Damen various potions, casting counter curses, and even getting Damen to take part in some strange activities. As with all good fairytales, the spell is only broken with true loves kiss, but what Laurent fails to consider is that Damen might have feelings for him even when he’s not under the spells power, and that maybe his brother isn’t the one thing he wants after all.





	1. Cold Corpses and Hot Tea

**Author's Note:**

> This work has been a labor of love for almost five months at this point and I am so happy that people will finally be able to read it and enjoy it! Huge shoutout to the Capri fandom for being a source of constant inspiration! Also, big thanks to my beta Indelible_Faith for helping me mold this work into what I wanted it to be and also Magickart whose art you will see next Sunday when the rest of the work is published!

Laurent slammed the heavy book down on the workbench, sending stacks of loose-leaf pages of notes scattering to the floor.  
“Why isn’t it working?!” he yelled, angrily scanning the pages of the tome. The air around him hung heavy with the distinctive burnt metal scent of magic and buzzed with energy. Despite the undeniable electricity in the room, the body on the table beside Laurent remained unmoving, stiff, and cold.  
  
Laurent swept his arm across the workbench, glass vials filled with a myriad of colored liquids scattering across the floor.  
  
“What did I miss?!” he yelled, banging his fist against the solid wood surface of the bench. His chest rose and fell in heavy, ragged breaths.  
  
This was the ninth resurrection spell that Laurent had tried in as many months, waiting with bated breath for every new full moon in order to make each repeated attempt. It had taken Laurent years to devise a way to sneak into the royal tomb in order to exhume his brother’s body and then learn the magic required to manage such a feat without joining his brother in the great unknown. Now that Laurent finally had the corpse of his brother under his own roof, and restored with magic back to a semblance of his once breathing self, he had been collecting magical texts about resurrection, searching for a way to return his brother to the realm of the living and himself to a happier state. Finding texts had proven to be more difficult than Laurent had expected since his uncle had outlawed necromancy and most other forms of extremely powerful—and therefore threatening—magic.  
  
Laurent looked over at the lifeless corpse of his older brother. Auguste’s lips, eyelids, and fingers were purple, the rest of his skin was ghastly white. Laurent had done his best to knit the failing flesh and dry bones of his brother’s corpses back into a form that reflected the brother he once remembered laughing and smiling with in an easier time. However, beneath the royal blue overcoat, laced up the center-front with golden ties, Laurent knew that his brother was nothing but a hollow, rotting shell of the person that Laurent had once loved. Yet, Laurent was still hopeful that with the right spell, the right ingredients, the right timing, he could get Auguste to look upon him with his blue eyes and smile once again.  
  
Laurent wrapped his fingers around his brother’s hand, squeezing the frigid, stiff palm in his grip and chanting the final incantation again, as if to force the still body before him to convulse against its will.  
  
“Let time be undone and death unborne, I will the flesh once cold become warm. By the stars above and the earth below, I will the soul once lost come home.”  
  
Still, Laurent observed no changes in his brother’s lifeless face, not even a twitch of the lips or tremble of an eyebrow. Laurent sucked in a deep breath, turning away from the table and bracing his arms rigidly against the wall, letting out a cry of rage and anguish. Countless hours translating texts written in languages he barely understood and scouring the night market for ingredients he could barely afford, and all of it gone to waste. Again.  
  
Laurent crumbled to the ground beside the workbench, balling pages of notes angrily in his fists, bringing his forehead to rest on the packed dirt floor. Laurent was convinced that he could bring Auguste back to life—he knew he was capable of it—but every spell, every conjuring, every potion, always fell short, leaving him empty and angry and ruined.  
  
The floor beneath Laurent’s face became wet with tears he didn’t even know he was shedding. His body was physically exhausted, and his mental and emotional controls were taxed past their limits by the energetic toll of the magic he had been casting for the past four hours. He could feel darkness pressing in on him, his body and mind begging for rest, but even as his consciousness was slipping away, Laurent couldn’t stop thinking about his brother.

 

Laurent woke with a start, taking a moment to register that he had fallen asleep on the floor at the foot of the table that his brother’s corpse rested upon. One side of his face ached with the pressure of pressing into the hard-packed dirt, and he could feel numerous points on his body that were going to be sore for days to come from his uncomfortable sleeping arrangement. A distant knock drew his attention away from his own physical discomfort to the scandalous reality that he was living.  
  
Sunlight spilled in through one of the open cellar doors and Laurent realized, as he returned to his senses, that he had failed to pull it shut after last night’s failed ritual. If anyone had happened to come snooping and peek in to find him asleep on the floor alongside a remarkably well-preserved corpse with a likeness to the dead prince surrounded by books filled with resurrection spells, Laurent would likely find himself in his own grave. He was quick to correct his mistake, brushing dirt out of his hair as he tossed a heavy sheet over Auguste’s body, disappointed to find that it was still as cold and stiff as the previous night.  
  
The distant knocking became louder, more irritated, and Laurent hastened to make his way up the cellar steps, locking and bolting the doors behind him. Smoothing out the front of his faded green top coat, Laurent waved his hand in front of his face, covering his features and distinctive golden hair with a simple glamour that gave him a more modest appearance, better suited to a solitary, reclusive witch.  
The knocking came again, along with the agitated voice of a man who had been waiting for too long.  
“Open up!”  
  
Laurent stalked silently up the back steps and through the house, toward the front door. “Keep a hold on your temper, I’m making my way,” he hollered back, checking his appearance quickly in a silver dish. He no longer saw his brother in his reflection as he usually did, instead finding green eyes staring back at him and his face framed with thick, dark hair that tickled his chin. Satisfied, he cracked the door, taking in the fuming man standing on his stoop. He immediately recognized the man as a frequent client. “Lazar,” Laurent said, appraisingly. “Isn’t it a little early for you to be calling?”  
  
Lazar’s face was turned up in a scowl. “It’s nearly midday, and I’m in a bind,” he fumed. Then, lowering his voice, he added. “I need something for love.”  
  
“No,” Laurent said flatly, beginning to shut the door.  
  
“Wait!” Lazar stuck his foot between the door and the jam. “Then give me something that will let me speak Akielon.”  
  
Laurent slowly relented and allowed Lazar to enter, shutting the door, but not before checking to be sure that no one else had accompanied him.  
  
Lazar had taken up a seat at Laurent’s kitchen table where Laurent usually consulted with clients in private before sending them away with a simple and inconspicuous spelled candle or tonic.  
Laurent put the kettle on the woodstove, snapping his fingers to bring the fire sparking to life in an instant. “Why would you want to speak Akielon?”  
  
As much as Laurent put on the guise of someone ignorant about the current state of affairs, he was extremely well-informed about the policies and relationships that his country, Vere, kept. He had been raised in the palace, surrounded by luxury and love, and he had been tutored in his country’s history. He knew very well that Vere and Akielos had been one country once, one kingdom. That was not the case anymore. Laurent’s uncle was constantly trying to establish relations with Akielos that would allow Vere to capitalize on their resources and increase the royal fortune. Laurent tried his best to regularly scry his uncle’s meetings in order to stay current on Vere’s political state, but the sight of his uncle made his stomach turn and there was only so much Laurent could watch and listen to before he had to step away and try to forget what had been taken from him.  
  
“Akielon princes have come to meet with the Regent to discuss trade, and they’ve brought an impressive guard along with them,” Lazar replied, unimpressed by Laurent’s open displays of magic. He had come to Laurent enough times that he no longer looked on like a startled Christian peasant who had nowhere else to turn for their ailing child. Lazar had a comfortable familiarity with Laurent, he was the closest thing to a friend that Laurent had, though he was far from being anything more than a regular acquaintance. Lazar was part of the Regent’s guard, so Laurent often feigned stupidity in order to hear about the unfolding events in the royal court.  
  
“You wish to discuss politics with Akielon soldiers?” Laurent asked, absently spooning tea leaves into two well-worn cups. His back to Lazar, Laurent allowed himself a small smirk. He knew all too well why Lazar wanted to be able to speak Akielon.  
  
“No,” Lazar snorted. “There’s an attractive soldier among the younger prince’s guard that I wish to couple with. Just a simple something for love woul-”  
  
“No,” Laurent said firmly, pouring boiling water into the cups and setting one before Lazar. The air filled with the fragrant scent of lavender, rose, and mint. “I don’t make love potions. I don’t cast love spells.”  
  
Lazar produced a weighted bag of coins from beneath his coat. “I’ll pay whatever you ask.”  
  
“No. Love magic is dangerous and pointless. It can’t replace real emotions, it will always wear off in time, and it completely strips one of their free will to make decisions about the way they feel and the things they do. I would never subject anyone to that, no matter the amount of gold or silver I was offered.”  
  
Lazar’s shoulders fell in disappointment. He started to return the bag to his coat.  
  
“However,” Laurent said. “I can make you a charm that will make your natural features more noticeable and help you to understand more Akielon. That’s the best I can manage.” It wasn’t really the best Laurent could manage. If he really wanted to, he could send Lazar out the door with the ability to speak every language in the world and a glamour that would attract all kinds of lovers. But magic that powerful was sure to get Laurent in trouble.  
  
Lazar, who just seemed happy to have a little bonus on his side when the time came, nodded his head with enthusiasm. “I’ll take it. How much?”  
  
Laurent considered. “Six gold pieces. Half now. Use the other half to buy me some things at the market and bring the tomorrow along with the change. I’ll have it ready then.”  
  
Lazar nodded, handing over three golden coins and accepting a list of ingredients to pick up at the market. He downed his scalding tea in one large gulp as Laurent ushered him toward the door. “Oh,” Lazar turned back to Laurent who was standing in the doorway, watching him mount his horse, “You probably haven’t heard of this, but the Regent has ordered a search of the kingdom for the Prince of Vere.”  
  
Laurent’s heart caught in his throat, and he tried to feign confusion. “I thought the Prince of Vere was dead.”  
  
“He is, but his body has gone missing,” Lazar said, in an unsettlingly casual tone. “His disappearance has been very concerning. I was there when the Regent was notified, and it seemed most disturbing, he started talking as if there were two princes, one alive and one dead.” Lazar laughed in a scoffing manner. “Grief certainly can make one delusional.”  
  
Laurent tried to force an understanding grimace on his face as Lazar waved him off and urged his horse into a trot down the path that led away from Laurent’s secluded residence. As soon as he was out of sight, Laurent began working, anxious. He ground herbs and extracted oils to be pressed along with spelled candle wax in an amulet mold for Lazar which required most of his concentration, but his thoughts continued to wander elsewhere. By the time Laurent had the mold for Lazar’s amulet on the windowsill to set and be cleansed by the sun and moonlight, he had already thought up a hundred possibilities as to how these new developments in Vere could go horribly wrong and put him at the mercy of his uncle once more.

 

Magic had been treated much differently when Laurent was in his youth. He could remember socializing with all degree of magically gifted persons, many of whom were appointed to high office in the court or worked in the palace as caretakers. They were respected for their skill and frequently consulted and paid for their abilities in healing, fortune telling, spell making, or whatever their particular talent was. Even after Auguste had died, Laurent continued to see the witches, healers, and fortune tellers working beside his uncle. But when Laurent had started to show signs of possessing magical blood during his coming of age, all of that had changed.  
  
Laurent had always felt a strange affection for his uncle. Sometimes it would slip away and he would find himself repulsed and terrified and sickened at the thought of his uncle’s behaviors, but those feelings never lasted very long and were usually completely forgotten after his uncle brought him a cup of warm tea. That was when Laurent had learned how dangerous compulsionary magic, particularly love spells and potions, could be—how they could make people see abuse as compassion.  
  
It didn’t take Laurent long to learn how to wield his power once it had awakened within him. Magic came easily to him. He mastered simple tonics, spells, charms, and wards in a matter of days, and succeeded at completing lengthy and complex rituals that were usually reserved for the magical elite without much trouble at all. Once he became aware of how his uncle was using him, Laurent guarded himself against the compulsions spells that his uncle bribed the palace witches to make for him. The bitterness that usually only lasted for a few days stayed, unable to be replaced by a false sense of comfort, and Laurent turned cold and abrasive to his uncle’s advances.  
  
Laurent had been pleased to watch his uncle react in rage once he realized that his nephew was wielding magic against him. Now he knows that I am powerful, Laurent had thought, now he knows better than to think he can simply use me and discard me. How wrong he had been. Laurent could remember not seeing his uncle for several days, which was unusual considering how often he usually preferred Laurent’s company. Then one day, upon seeing Laurent, a member of the palace staff had gasped, thrown down the tray of tea that was waiting to be served before lunch, and pointed at Laurent.  
  
“How did you get in here?” they had asked, shocked.  
  
Laurent had been puzzled.  
  
“An intruder! A miscreant! A street urchin come to rob the Regent!”  
  
Laurent had attempted to protest as members of the royal guard, men he had held authority over only moments before, began to drag him out of the palace. He had insisted that he was Laurent, the Prince of Vere, nephew to the Regent.  
  
They had laughed at him for that, spitting at his feet as he was thrown out onto the street.  
  
The Prince of Vere was dead, they said, and he had been dead a good many years.  
  
Laurent had fought against the guards, but he was just a young boy, still coming into himself and hardly any match for the royal guard. He had called out to his uncle, begging him, threatening him, pleading with him, threatening him again. His uncle had said nothing, he had simply looked on, a knowing look on his face. As Laurent had watched the palace doors shut before him, he had watched his whole life disappear.  
  
Sitting at the kitchen table where Lazar had only hours before, Laurent swirled the tea in his cup. He still didn’t know how his uncle had managed it. He had been erased. There were no paintings of him in the palace beside Auguste, there was no grave waiting for him in the royal tomb, there was no recognition that Vere had ever had a second prince. Nothing. He was gone. Magic that powerful frightened Laurent.  
  
After Laurent had gotten over the initial shock of being throw out on his arse, he had set about learning as much magic as he could in order to become powerful enough to lift whatever delusional curse his uncle had cast across the kingdom. That was before he had discovered necromancy and devised an alternative solution. Raise his brother from the dead, no would argue with the testimony of the beloved Prince Auguste.  
  
Another knock at the door shook Laurent from his reminiscing and returned him to the present moment. He let out a small sigh. Outside his door, there was sure to be another customer, another needy peasant asking for a healing remedy. Laurent didn’t mind doing the magic required to make the tonics and potions that the people asked for, it was the socialization that drained him. Laurent put on a harsh and dangerous demeanor as a result, keeping himself at a distance from almost everyone. The colder he was, the more fearful clients were of his power, and the more fearful they were, they less likely to get him into trouble. Laurent didn’t always enjoy his daily routine, but it was worth being able to spend his nights slaving over ancient texts in order to breathe life into his brother once again.  
  
Laurent tucked his hair behind his ears, smoothed down the front of his top coat, and went to attend to the day’s work.


	2. Strangers in the Night

The sun had long since set when Laurent finally slumped into bed. Countless potions sat on his bedside window, soaking up the moonlight and charging, waiting to replace depleted stock. Laurent had seen almost a dozen people, seeking remedies for everything from sore muscles to lost money to unconscious children. Laurent had spent hours standing in front of the hot stove, mixing tonics and potions, dipping spelled candles, boiling healing teas. His feet hurt, his back ached, and his head throbbed from a combination of the heat, the constant interactions with clients, and having to keep up his glamour for such an extended period of time.  
Laurent pressed his head back into the small pillow, shutting his eyes for a moment of respite. In the back of his mind, he heard a voice calling him.  
“Laurent…”  
  
It was Auguste’s voice, quiet and calm.  
  
“Laurent, come find me.”  
  
Laurent peeled his eyes open. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but Auguste’s presence in the cellar beckoned him. He would have to reinforce the protective spells that surrounded his brother soon enough, and he knew he should try translating more of the ancient texts that he had found if he wanted to make any progress in the next moon cycle. His arms and legs felt heavy as he slowly rose up from the bed and gathered up various glass bottles filled with oils and herbs to bring along with him.  
  
A sudden noise at the front of his small home startled him, causing him to drop one of the bottles on the floor, oil spilling out across the hardwoods. Laurent’s heart caught in his throat. The sound came again. Laurent recognized it as a gentle, almost hesitant knock on the door. It seemed that he was particularly popular today. Laurent drew in a deep breath, drawing his glamour back up over him and turning to the mirror hanging on the wall in his small bedroom. He exhaled on it slowly, fogging spreading across the surface, and a man’s face came into view. He had a broad face and strong features, dark eyes, skin, and hair, and from what Laurent could see of his collar—or lack thereof—he was not dressed in the typical Veretian style. Between the glimpse of clothing and the darkness of his skin, Laurent guessed that he must be an Akielon soldier, perhaps wandered off to find the village witch on a dare or to request something sinister or sexual in nature that had no place in the daylight. Laurent had dealt with few such intrusions under cover of darkness before. The worst that could happen is that he would be forced to compel the man that he was drunk and lost and send him stumbling back towards town.  
  
Laurent moved through the house quietly. He stood on the other side of the door for a long moment, carefully noting the heavy walking stick propped up against the door and the long knife that he knew was above the door frame.  
  
Laurent slid open the grille on the door so that he could get a better look at the man outside, and found himself looking at the man’s chin.  
When he noticed the grille had opened, the stranger took a step back so that he could meet Laurent’s eyes.  
  
Laurent did a quick scan of the man. He was perhaps a whole head taller than Laurent with shoulders so wide that it seemed he might not fit through the door. His arms were large and muscular, as were all the parts of his body that were exposed by the Akielon-style chiton that he wore. A heavy purple cloak hung over his shoulders and down his back. Laurent couldn’t make out the shape, sound, or smell of a horse, which was odd considering how far his residence was from the edge of the town. It would have taken at least two hours—if not more—to reach his place by foot.  
  
Laurent’s brows knit together. He waved his hand before him, feeling the air between him and the stranger through the sturdy door for magic. Sure enough he felt the sharp buzz of magical energy. He closed his eyes and probed further into the field of energy. The man was being compelled to Laurent’s door by some sort of spell, though Laurent could not pick up the distinct signatures of any particular witch, or at least he didn’t recognize them.  
  
“You seek a remedy for your compulsion?” he asked through the door. “Come back tomorrow morning.” He began sliding the grille shut.  
  
“Wait, please,” said the stranger, reaching toward the grille.  
  
Laurent appraised the man once more, realizing that he looked confused and tired and that he spoke impeccable Veretian.  
  
“I’ve come…I don’t know how far.” The man looked around him, concerned.  
  
“Where are you from?” It wasn’t usual for a compulsion spell to effect one’s memory, but Laurent was wary of this stranger’s vagueness and unusual appearance.  
  
“I don’t know.” The man shook his head.  
  
“How did you get here? Did you walk?” Laurent asked.  
  
“I have no memory of…walking…but my feet are sore and my legs ache.”  
  
Laurent narrowed his eyes at the man, tentatively bringing his fingers to the bolts on the back of the door. Either this man was under a particularly powerful compulsion spell that made it impossible for him to think about anything besides what he was being compelled to feel and do, or he was an incredibly good actor. Laurent’s teeth sunk into his lip and sighed. Compulsion spells were always troublesome. If Laurent chose to do nothing this man would likely stand on his door all night, unable to sleep or even sit down and rest until the spell was broken, and while Laurent didn’t like the idea of letting a strange man into his house he also didn’t like the idea a strange man standing on his porch all night while he tried to raise the dead in his root cellar.  
  
Laurent undid the bolts and locks and slowly pulled the door open. “I can’t make a remedy for you unless I’m able to determine the exact nature of the spell cast upon you, and I can’t very well do that through a solid mahogany door. That’s the only reason I am letting you in at this hour, are we clear?”  
  
The man nodded as he entered, and Laurent noticed that his feet and calves looked cut and bruised from walking through brambles.  
  
“Sit,” Laurent ordered, pointing at the kitchen table. He went about lighting candles and fetching his large oil lamp. It would have been much easier to simply snap his fingers and bring everything to light, but Laurent was wary about exposing his power, even to someone who had no memory of anything other than the moment at hand.  
  
“Who are you?” Laurent asked, filling a large pot with water and setting it to boil on the woodstove which he stoked to life from the coals that were still burning.  
  
“Da…Damia…N…Dama…Damen?” The man rubbed his forehead with one of his large hands as he struggled to dig through foggy memories.  
  
“Damen,” Laurent mentally noted as he lit a large white pillar candle in the center of the table. “And who are you?”  
  
Damen simply shook his head.  
  
“Are you a guard? An Akielon guard? A merchant?” Laurent asked, tipping his head inquisitively. “Hmm?”  
  
Damen shook his head again.  
  
“You can’t recall.”  
  
Damen nodded.  
  
“Why are you here? What made you come here?” Laurent opened a kitchen drawer and produced a large crystal cluster that looked like it had been cut in half, one side covered in protruding quartz points and the other polished smooth. He placed it on the table between them, next to the candle.  
  
“You,” Damen said.  
  
Laurent bristled at the sound of Damen’s voice. There was a syrupy, compassionate air to it that reminded Laurent of the way his uncle had endearingly called his name when he was younger. Laurent set his jaw, grinding his teeth together to keep from showing his obvious distaste. He was getting to tired to be cordial anymore.  
  
“What about me?” He asked, probing for more information, trying to prompt Damen into remembering something that could help Laurent lift the spell that had been cast on him. And also determining whether or not Damen was a sexual predator that he needed to be concerned about.  
  
“You’re…exquisite,” Damen said, breathlessly.  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“Your hair is even more golden in person.” Damen’s face twisted into a disgustingly lovesick look.  
  
Laurent’s hands froze on top of the flat side of the crystal. “You can see through my glamour?”  
  
“What?” Damen snapped out of his trance momentarily. “Yes, you are glamorous.”  
  
Laurent swallowed down a lump in his throat. He hadn’t detected anything within Damen’s compulsion that would have let him see through magical spells. Perhaps Damen was one of the rare few non-magical types with the ability to see past magical glamours and barriers. Some non-magical types were less susceptible to spells and potions, but very few could see past elaborate glamours such as Laurent/s.  
  
Since the glamour was pointless and simply expending magical energy, Laurent dropped it. He brushed a lock of his gold hair behind his ear and moved his fingers through the air in front of his face in a quick, practiced gesture, murmuring the incantation for sleep. Laurent watched Damen’s face for signs of fatigue, but all he got in return was the same stupid, awestruck look that he had been receiving since Damen walked in the door.  
  
“Are you…feeling…fatigued?” he asked.  
  
Damen raised one of his eyebrows, confused. “No.”  
  
Laurent murmured the incantation again, placing a hand on the crystal to draw energy and strengthen the spell.  
  
“You’re not feeling anything…at all?”  
  
Damen shook his head.  
  
Laurent leaned back in his chair. Damen was under an extremely powerful compulsion spell unlike anything Laurent had ever seen. The only other time Laurent had experienced magic this powerful was when his uncle had erased him as if he had never existed. The compulsion seemed to be making Damen immune to basic spells, and though Laurent had yet to test his theory he assumed that it would also make Damen immune to standard potions and counter-curses that would typically rid one of compulsion.  
  
Laurent examined Damen’s attire to try and determine why anyone would spend so much time and energy working on such a complicated compulsion spell for him. He was wearing a chiton in the Akielon style, but it looked like it was made of the finest cloth, just like his purple cloak. He wore a simple gold pin at the shoulder and another at the hip. Leather cuffs were tied around his wrists and Laurent had noted his expensive leather sandals when he came in. Clearly, Damen had money, which meant it was unlikely that he was a soldier. Perhaps he was a nobleman, or even a member of the royal court. Lazar had said that Akielon nobility was in the city to visit with the Regent.  
  
“I can’t help you now,” Laurent stood abruptly. He was beginning to see things from his uncle’s perspective, realizing that having a member of Akielon nobility dazed and in his house would be considered enough of a magical threat to warrant that his whole residence be searched. And that would turn up Auguste’s body, for which Laurent would surely hang. Laurent had always tried to keep a low profile, doing what he had to in order to get by, but with Auguste missing his uncle had to know that Laurent was growing stronger. He must feel threated, Laurent thought, that’s why he wants me found…he wants me dead.  
  
“You’ve already helped me,” Damen said, catching Laurent’s attention.  
  
Laurent glanced over at him. Damen’s face was soft and understanding. A feeling stirred in Laurent’s stomach that he was unused to, one of compassion and gratefulness. He pushed it down and sharpened his magical awareness. “What am I supposed to do with you?” Laurent muttered, mostly to himself.  
  
“Please,” Damen interjected. “If you’d just let me stay the night. This is the first time I’ve had a moment to rest in what feels like ages. Every other time I’ve tried to sit down, to stop, I can’t. I found my way to this place at least three different times that I remember before I finally came to the door.”  
  
“You can sleep in the horse pen with my mare,” Laurent said dismissively.  
  
“No, it has to be in the house, I can’t rest outside.”  
  
Laurent rubbed his forehead, becoming irritated. He wasn’t going to be able to work with Auguste tonight, and it was all because of this foreign stranger, and this complex magic, and this stubborn power that Laurent couldn’t find a way around.  
  
“Fine,” he relented. “I’ll get you a blanket and bedroll and you can sleep in the back pantry…there should be room on the floor for you there, and the moonlight comes in as well so it’ll be good for you. I’ll make you an antidote in the morning.”  
  
With Damen arranged, and barely fitting, in the pantry. Laurent returned to his bedroom, stepping over the broken glass and spilled herbs on the floor and collapsing into bed fully clothed, barely pulling a blanket up over him before exhaustion swept over him.

 

The faint scent of cinnamon wafted through the house as the beams of early morning sun peeked through Laurent’s window. Disoriented by the amount of magic he worked with the previous day, it took him several moments to recall his strange encounter with Damen, the man he recognized was now standing in his doorframe with a cup of tea.  
  
Laurent sat bolt upright, backing up against the bedframe, startled by Damen’s presence and taking on a defensive posture.  
  
Damen’s face shifted into an expression of surprise on his part. “I apologize for the intrusion, I was only hoping to repay you some of your kindness from last night.” He placed the cup on the floor at the door. “I made tea. And some eggs are waiting as well. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”  
  
Laurent watched as Damen turned and slowly walked back toward the kitchen, peeking back at Laurent now and again. He was still wearing the chiton he had arrived in yesterday, but now a pair of lightweight linen pants were layered underneath to keep the early morning chill away and his purple cloak was wrapped around his shoulders in a sort of cowl, covering his neck and upper arms.  
  
Laurent quietly slipped off the bed, taking the teacup up off the floor to shut his door. He quickly shucked his clothes and rinsed himself perfunctorily with a rag dipped in the small bowl of water at his bedside table before redressing in his usual cream underclothes and a green top coat and trousers.  
  
The early morning sun was just beginning to rise high enough above the horizon that it sliced between the trees and cast stripes of light against Laurent’s bedroom wall. It was still fairly early and Laurent was hoping that once Damen had taken the antidote Laurent would make that he would then be able to attend to Auguste briefly before Lazar or other townsfolk arrived to retrieve their simples and spells.  
  
He told himself that he could endure Damen’s lovesick looks for a few more hours while he prepared the antidote despite the fact that they reminded him of the syrupy looks of his uncle, the last person he could remember showing him affection. His uncle had tainted Laurent’s feelings for closeness with other people, especially other men. Occasionally, as now with Damen, a particularly handsome man would come calling for a remedy for some sort of ailment and Laurent—usually stoic and uninterested in interacting with other people any more than he had to—would feel an animalistic urge for closeness and comfort come over him. He would crave to be held in the arms of another and feel the gentle caress of someone’s lips against his own, to be shown compassion for his sake alone and no other reason. But that was unrealistic to expect, the last person who had shown Laurent any sort of compassion without ulterior motives was Auguste, and even now Laurent was failing him as he ignored the urge to go and reaffirm the protective spells around his brother in order to make Damen an antidote.  
  
Laurent felt the heavy weight of guilt combined with Damen’s eyes upon him as he ignored the breakfast and tea that Damen had so graciously made in exchange for getting an early start on what would be a complicated antidote. Laurent ground licorice and nettle, mixing them in boiling water with rose petals, dandelion leaves, burdock root, and black pepper grounds. The concoction smelled earthy and bitter, and it would probably taste like dirt, but it wasn’t supposed to taste good, it was supposed to work, and to work it had to include all the disgusting herbs for cleansing and detoxification. He strained the liquid through a fine cloth, squeezing out every last drop as best he could without burning his hands. Once the entire antidote had been strained into a large cup, Laurent retrieved a long shard of clear quartz from a drawer and stirred the liquid in a clockwise direction, muttering:  
  
"This spell compels to dispel that which compels,  
  
Cleansing that which curses one who should be well."  
  
He repeated the incantation three times, tapping the clear quartz wand on the edge of the cup three times when he was finished. He placed the cup carefully in front of Damen who hadn’t moved from his seat at the kitchen table, watching Laurent enduringly.  
  
“In order for this to work you must fully understand what you're compelled towards and wish yourself to be free from it,” Laurent said, sitting down across from Damen. “What do you want more than anything else? What can’t you stop thinking about?”  
  
“You,” Damen said, his tone the same as it had been the previous night. He didn’t take his eyes from Laurent’s face.  
  
Laurent clenched his hands into fists and released them. “Yes, you’re under a love spell, which is a form of compulsion. You must understand, you don’t actually love me.”  
  
“But I do,” Damen asserted, looking confused. “I can’t remember my life before you.”  
  
“No, you don’t you just think you do and the spell has caused you to be unable to think about anything but me,” Laurent spat, becoming quickly irritated. “This is not a blessing, even though I know it feels like it is. This is a curse. You can’t remember who you are, or where you’re from, or what you’re meant to be doing. Your life is consumed, and if you don’t reject this curse and allow yourself to be free from this compulsion, it will eat away at your brain until you don’t know what’s real anymore.”  
  
Damen hesitantly nodded at Laurent, his hands coming around the cup in front of him.  
  
“Before you drink you must say that you wish to be free from your compulsion, that you wish not to love me anymore,” Laurent said.  
  
Damen seemed to swallow thickly at the sound of that. “But…I don’t know if that’s what I want.”  
  
Laurent slammed an open hand down on the table, his irritation boiling over. “What don’t you get?! I don’t love you! I don’t love anyone! Is that really what you want? To let your life be consumed by someone who’s broken and empty? Are you really willing to leave behind your whole life, your family, your responsibilities, your freedom, to be shackled to someone cursed to hide away and never be happy?” He was panting when he finished, his cheeks red and his heart racing.  
  
Damen had a hurt expression on his face.  
  
“Don’t you see? Whoever’s put this curse on you wants you to torture me with the thought of your affection…they want you to hurt when I reject you and for you to take it personally and destroy me,” Laurent continued.  
  
Damen lowered his eyes to the steaming cup in front of him. “I don’t want to love you if it hurts you, I don’t want to be compelled to care about you if you don’t feel cared for.”  
  
“Say you don’t love me,” Laurent ordered.  
  
Damen’s troubled eyes met Laurent. “I don’t love you.”  
  
But Laurent could hear that the intent in Damen’s voice was just the opposite of what he said. “Say it like you mean it, say it like I killed your brother, say it like I’ve hurt you and you hate me.”  
  
Damen licked his lower lip. “I. Don’t. Love. You,” he said, mustering as much anger and vile intentions as he could.  
  
Laurent nodded his head. “Now drink, the whole thing.”  
  
Damen lifted the cup to his lips, keeping his eyes on Laurent as he gulped down the foul-tasting concoction. He set the empty cup down on the table, giving Laurent a wary look.  
  
Laurent released a sigh of relief. “Good. Now, to sleep with you,” Laurent said, waving his fingers before Damen’s eyes and drawing the spell for sleep into the air, the room filling with the scent of hot metal. Before him, Damen merely blinked.  
  
“Am I…supposed to feel something?”  
  
Laurent frowned. “To sleep, by gods!” He could feel the magic moving through the air, buzzing around him, and he could also feel how it seemed to avoid Damen as water flows past around a large rock in a river. It didn’t seem to matter how centrally Laurent directed the spell at Damen, it refused to penetrate whatever shell of magical protection he had around him. Laurent dropped the spell for sleep, instead reaching out into the stream of magic around them, feeling for Damen’s spell. He groaned in frustration when he discovered that Damen’s spell was still intact, although it did seem to be slightly weaker than it had been. He swiped his hand across the table, sending candles and Damen’s cup crashing to the floor.  
  
“My head does feel clearer, less like my mind is in a fog. I can remember…” He frowned.  
  
“Go on,” Laurent said. “The more I know the better I can adapt my approach. The faster I can be rid of you.”  
  
Damen ignored Laurent’s last comment. “I remember seeing your face. At the palace. I don’t…I don’t know why I was there, but I remember seeing your face. Or maybe it was just a face like yours.” He examined Laurent’s face. “No, it was you, I’m sure. And then…I remember waking up at the edge of the city and feeling drawn into the woods, like I knew you were here.”  
  
“Who was with you? In the palace?” Laurent’s heart skipped a beat. “An older man? A royal?”  
  
Damen shook his head. “I don’t remember anyone else. I just remember your face.”  
  
Laurent pushed himself away from the table. “Useless,” he murmured in frustration. The itch to check on Auguste was becoming unbearable and Laurent had to attend to it before he would explode. “I have to…get something from the root cellar. Stay here. Don’t answer the door. If anyone comes, hide in the pantry. No one can see you, do you understand?”  
  
Damen nodded hesitantly.  
  
“Well, do you or not?” Laurent asked testily.  
  
“Yes, I do,” Damen replied more confidently.  
  
Laurent turned on his heel and stalked out the back of the house. The morning was still fresh and Laurent took a deep breath of the warming air, filling his lungs and trying to relax. This was just a minor inconvenience, nothing more. He felt a pang of remorse for erupting at Damen so hotly and brushed it away before it could develop into anything. He was far too irritated at the moment to process any emotion properly. As he descended into the root cellar, Laurent was hit with an overpowering waft of decomposition. He brought the back of his hand to his nose, gritting his teeth. This is what he got for failing to attend to Auguste in time.  
  
It only took Laurent a few minutes to reverse the small amount of deterioration that Auguste had undergone as the preservation spell had begun to wear off. He reinforced the preservation spell and strengthened the cloaking spell that kept the unusually energetic magic signature emitted by all of the spells that Laurent had cast on Auguste hidden as he laid down a new layer of salt around the edge of Auguste’s body. Usually, preservation spells didn’t require recasting, but they also weren’t typically cast over human bodies either and Laurent was beginning to realize that most of magical common sense went out the window when working with a corpse, which is what made resurrection so hard.  
  
Laurent snatched up one of the resurrection texts that he was in the middle of translating before the next full moon arrived. He doubted that he would be able to sneak out to the cellar as often as he wanted to with Damen still around the house, and he didn’t want to arise any suspicion without knowing who the mysterious man in his house was. He turned to walk back up the cellar steps but hesitated instead, sitting down on the bottom step.  
  
He was still breathing heavily from his outburst at Damen, and the book in his hands seemed to add a weight to his shoulders. This was his reality: the corpse of the brother that he wanted to show him compassion was lying in his root cellar while an extremely attractive man sat in his home, eager to show him compassion, certain that he was in love with Laurent. For a moment, Laurent considered giving up on trying. He could stop trying to raise his brother and stop trying to lift Damen’s curse and instead just let Damen dote on him. A part of him wanted to do that, a part of him wanted to stop hiding so much, a part of him wanted to stop being afraid of affection and just accept the compassion of another person. But a part of Laurent was also sure that his uncle was behind Damen’s spell, which meant that his uncle wanted Laurent to cave and stop trying, he wanted him to give in and distract himself with a lover. Laurent let out a sigh. He couldn’t stop trying, even if he wanted to, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be a bit more patient with Damen. After all, it wasn’t his fault that he had been cursed.  
  
Damen was in the kitchen, cleaning up ceramic shards and candles from the floor where they had scattered. Laurent reached the entryway and then hesitated. Damen hadn’t noticed him yet, and Laurent watched as he carefully rearranged the candles on the table before taking the broom from the wall to sweep up the ceramic dust that covered the floor. It was endearing, really, and not at all something Laurent would have done had he been in Damen’s situation. Finally, Damen noticed him in the doorway and stopped. For a long moment they just looked at each other.  
  
Laurent broke the silence. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For…reacting so angrily.”  
  
Damen gave him a slight smile. “It’s not your fault.”  
  
“It is.” Laurent rubbed his eyes.  
  
“It’s not. I didn’t realize how much I was letting my emotions override my sensibilities. Magic is…frightening, and foreign to me, that much I do know.”  
Laurent stooped to pick up a large chunk of ceramic from the floor, turning it over in his hand before placing it in the front pocket of his top coat. “Have you remembered more?”  
  
“A bit, yes. Would it be helpful?”  
  
Laurent nodded. “I’ll be more patient this time,” he said, pressing his fingers against the place where the ceramic sat in his coat.  
  
Damen smiled at him again. There was something less lovesick about his face, Laurent noticed, more genuine. Even with the spell only slightly weakened, Laurent felt more comforted by Damen’s presence than he had before. He didn’t feel as threatened by the aura of magic that surrounded him, he didn’t seem to notice it quite as much.  
  
“Come sit on the back step, let’s have a change of scenery and some fresh air,” Laurent said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my lifeblood! ;)


	3. Forbidden Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is finally here (and don't worry, Chapter 4 is soon to follow)! This chapter includes the AMAZING artwork of Magickkart who depicted Damen and Laurent's porch conversations with such. amazing. detail. Guys, I'm dying. This art really brings to life my vision for this fic and I am so grateful for all the time and effort that was put into its creation. I hope you love it just as much as I do (and if you do love it, why not head on over to [Magickkart's tumblr](https://magickkart.tumblr.com) and show them some love, yeah?)!

Damen’s memory proved to be very much recovered, although he still couldn’t say who he was or what he was doing at the palace, he could remember more details from his past and the events leading up to arriving outside Laurent’s home. He described some of the faces that he had seen at the palace, and he could recall sleeping in large rooms, being waited on by a large staff. He had a very good grasp on Akielon and Veretian politics and trade, something Laurent enjoyed discussing though he rarely had anyone to converse with. For some time, he enjoyed the simple pleasure of discussing politics with Damen, who seemed to also enjoy the subject. He also had memories of training with a sword and he was once again able to speak in Akielon, which proved to be most confusing for Laurent, as Damen would often start speaking in Akielon without realizing it and Laurent knew very limited Akielon.

However, Laurent had been able to gather that Damen was a high-ranking officer in the Akielon military or an official of some kind who was also trained in combat. The fact that he had been invited to the palace, perhaps to accompany one of the princes, also signified that he was trusted. Laurent worried that perhaps people would be searching for him, and being that Damen couldn’t exactly remember what had happened to him, officials would likely assume that Laurent had cursed him, trusting a foreign nobleman before they would ever trust a witch. Laurent’s concern only increased when Lazar arrived to pick up his amulet.

Damen sat in the pantry, keeping silent and staying out of sight while Laurent attended to Lazar, instructing him on how to wear the amulet in order for it to work and what sort of results to expect. Lazar was overjoyed to receive the amulet and came through on his promise, bringing Laurent a basket filled with fresh foods from the market as well as the change in silver pieces. Giddy to see the results, Lazar didn’t stay long, for which Laurent was thankful for, but on his way out the door Lazar seemed to remember something of importance to say to Laurent. As he was mounting up he began discussing how the trade negotiations between Akielos and Vere had changed in nature because the youngest Akielon prince was no longer attending meetings with the Regent. People were gossiping that he was just enjoying some time in a Veretian brothel or that he had been sent out on an expedition to investigate the validity of the Regent’s claims about Vere’s resources, but nobody was certain or overly concerned since the eldest prince seemed just as happy to carry on negotiations without his brother. Nobody was looking for him, Lazar said, which seemed odd since he was a prince, but Prince Kastor had apparently been overheard telling the Akielon guard not to worry themselves with his absence.

Laurent furrowed his brow as the news. “Prince Kastor is the older Akielon prince?” he asked, trying to sound as naïve as possible. Truthfully, he didn’t know very much about Akielon royalty, even though he knew quite a bit about their trade policies and cultural customs.  
Lazar nodded in response.

“And the younger prince? The one who is missing?”

“Prince Damianos,” Lazar replied.

Laurent felt as though he might have a heart attack if his heart beat any faster. The possibility that Damen was a prince of Akielos made Laurent’s head spin. He bid Lazar farewell before rushing back into the house. If Damen really way a prince then Laurent needed to find a way to lift the curse that was upon him as quickly as possible. It would look bad to have an Akielon guard in his house, but it would look far worse to have an Akielon prince sleeping in his pantry. Laurent set about putting a glamour over the house so that townsfolk who came looking for it would only find a basket of labeled simples on a rock in a forest clearing. It wasn’t a complicated glamour, especially for someone of Laurent’s ability, but Laurent didn’t like hiding his house in this way. He was already so hidden, not showing people who he was, not sharing his real name, not letting anyone know anything about his life unless absolutely necessary. It already felt like he was invisible most of the time, just playing a character, and he didn’t like the thought that he might actually lose himself and never be able to find his way back. However, hiding the house was necessary if Laurent wanted to stay undistracted in order to lift the curse on Damen before the last quarter moon in a week when he would have to prepare a lot of candles, oils, tonics, and incense for the preparation stage of the next full moon ritual to try and raise Auguste.

 

Over the following days, Laurent tried every spell, every tonic, every ritual that he knew to try and lift the curse on Damen. He had Damen lay in the yard in the moonlight while he anointed him with saltwater and repeated an incantation to cast out unwanted magic. He dressed Damen in all white and made him walk windershins around a salt circle before drinking a purifying tea. He spelled a blanket for removing curses and laid it over Damen while he was a sleep. He had Damen write Laurent’s name down on a piece of parchment and burn it with an anointed candle on a windowsill in the moonlight. Nothing worked. Each time a little bit of progress would be made, and Damen would remember something else about his past or walk a little farther away from the house before he was unable to take another step and had to turn back, but the ward that kept Damen from being vulnerable to magic remained as strong as ever and Laurent’s magic was only partially effective.

For Laurent, it was exhausting. Typically, when casting a spell or making a potion Laurent would feel his magical force drained at first, but when the spell worked or the potion was consumed the magical energy would be released once again and the good that Laurent had done would return to him. In Damen’s case, Laurent was getting no return on his efforts whatsoever. Every night he collapsed into bed more exhausted than the last, his appetite and energy were sapped despite the fact that Damen had taken over preparing food and cleaning up after Laurent’s magic failed to work.

A lot of the spells were time-consuming or required waiting certain periods of time after the spell was cast before completing the next part, during which Damen and Laurent would spend time conversing about a growing variety of topics. Damen loved animals, especially horses, which led Laurent to start a whole conversation about his own horse, which then led to a foray in the small stable where Laurent watched Damen stroke his mare’s hair and pet her behind the ear in a way that made his heart flutter.

They both enjoyed language and culture, and Damen would spend hours telling Laurent what he remembered of Akielos while Laurent thought of clever ways to tell Damen about Vere without revealing too much about himself. Secretly, Laurent enjoyed Damen’s company. He was helpful, friendly, honest, earnest, and eager to engage in conversation. The presence of another person I his life made Laurent realize how much he missed having someone to talk to and confide in, someone to look forward to seeing in the morning and think about at night. He could feel himself growing attached, day by day, and instead of pushing the feeling away, he embraced it, choosing not the think about how it would only last a moment before it was gone.

However, as the last quarter moon drew closer, Laurent could feel Auguste’s presence in the root cellar itching at him and he knew that he had to lift Damen’s curse and send him away, even though he was starting to not want to.

It was late in the afternoon the day before the last quarter moon when the reality of what he would have to do in order to lift Damen’s curse hit him. And it was then that he was absolutely sure that this was his uncle’s doing. He had just finished a complicated exorcism ritual on Damen that was supposed to cleanse the body of all unnatural spirits and magic which, despite perfect concentration and execution, had been entirely unsuccessful. Laurent sat in the backdoor frame, drinking cool water as he watched Damen repurpose the fire that Laurent had used for the ritual to make dinner instead. He watched Damen labor over the hot fire in the heat of the late afternoon sun and thought about what he was about to propose. Damen caught his eye and walked over, squatting down and rocking back on his heels in the shade of the house.

“You’re disappointed,” Damen said. “That it didn’t work.”

“Aren’t you?” Laurent asked. They had become much more conversation with each other, and Laurent had even told Damen some things that he had never told anyone else, vague things about his uncle without ever mentioning his uncle’s position. He was more comfortable with Damen than he had been with anyone in a long time, but it was bitter at the same time because it wasn’t real. Laurent, a disgraced prince that no one remembered who lived his life as a reclusive witch, would never actually be cared for by the prince of a foreign nation. He was so far beneath Damen, it would have been distasteful.

Damen shrugged in response. “Yes and no. Obviously, I’m still compelled so I’m still glad I can enjoy your presence, but I also don’t like seeing you upset. Have you thought of something else to try?”

“There is…one other thing that I can think of,” Laurent said quietly.

Damen nodded in interest.

“Most love spells don’t last very long after being consummated, which is what makes them so terrible because you usually wake up in the morning in bed with someone that you wouldn’t be in bed with otherwise, disgusted with yourself, realizing that you don’t actually love them, that you never did.”  
Damen analyzed Laurent’s face. “Is that what you want to do?”

“It’s not about what I want. It’s never been about what I want,” Laurent said.

Damen opened his mouth as if to say something, but Laurent cut him off.

“Don’t. The more we talk about it the worse it is. It doesn’t have to be long, or good. Just adequate. Come to my room later tonight.” Laurent rose from the steps before Damen could say anything and went into his bedroom, shutting the door.

He didn’t come to dinner when Damen called into the house and said that the meat was done cooking, choosing to distract himself with text translations rather than have an awkward last meal with Damen. Even then, he couldn’t help thinking about the look on his uncle’s face when Damen returned to the city. He would know that Laurent had played right into his game, letting himself be bed by a man he had grown attached to only for that man to lose all feelings for him and leave with the following morning. It was exactly the kind of game his uncle was versed at playing.

When the sun had set and darkness had settled over the entire house, Laurent lit an oil lamp and waited on the edge of his bed for Damen. It was only a few minutes before Laurent heard Damen’s feet come to rest outside the door.

“Come in,” he said, standing, arranging his hands in front of himself to keep from flashing Damen through the sheer nightshirt he had put on. Then again, in a few minutes, it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Damen stepped towards him in the dim room, bringing his hand to Laurent’s cheek. His broad thumb stroked across Laurent’s lips. Laurent’s heartbeat quickened at the touch, it was so soft and gentle, not at all what he was used to or had expected. But it was as false as it was soft, Damen only touched him because he was compelled to want him.  
“I…I can’t do this, Damen,” Laurent said quietly, realizing that this might have been the first time he had said Damen’s name since he arrived. He liked the way it sounded when he said it.

Damen dropped his hand from Laurent’s face and took on of Laurent’s hands in his. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“This isn’t real.” Laurent watched Damen’s eyes shimmer warmly in the low lamplight.

“Isn’t it? It feels real to me.”

“But it isn’t real, and it won’t be real tomorrow.”

“And? If that’s true, I’ll be gone anyway. Isn’t that what you want?”

Laurent looked away from Damen’s eyes.

“That is what you want, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what I want,” Laurent replied quietly. “I don’t want to miss you, and I feel like I already do. Because I’ve already woken up tomorrow, and I know that I’ll still be feeling something, and you won’t.”

Damen squeezed Laurent’s hand. “You don’t know that for sure, and neither do I. This is all I know, right now.” He took Laurent’s other hand in his.

Laurent looked down at his pale hands held between Damen’s dark ones. “Is this really my fate? I finally let myself feel something for someone and then I have to let them go?”

“Isn’t it better to feel something than to never feel anything at all?”

There was a long pause between them.

“We don’t have to do this. We can stay just the way we are.”

“No,” Laurent replied, shaking his head. “Then you’re just like my slave and I can’t live my life like that. I’m not that kind of person.” Laurent tentatively placed his hand on top of  
Damen’s. “I want this tonight, even if it is only tonight.”

Damen looked down at Laurent through his thick lashes. “You know, I don’t even know your name,” he said with a small laugh. “I just know you.”

“Nobody knows my name. I’m just the witch,” Laurent replied.

“But you must have one?”

“Don’t ask me again,” Laurent said quietly. “No one would believe you if you told them.”

Laurent sat down on the edge of the bed again, watching Damen’s eyes follow him. He patted the bed beside him.

A small smile played across Damen’s lips as he came to sit beside Laurent. His warm hand came to rest on the middle of Laurent’s thigh, thumb stroking Laurent’s pale skin.

Laurent’s eyes darted down toward Damen’s hand as he tried to keep from showing the pleasurable shiver that Damen’s gentle gesture evoked in his body. “Don’t you think we’re a bit overdressed for two people who are going to bed together?” Laurent asked, distracting himself from the warmth that Damen’s touch sparked in his low belly.

“We’ll get there,” Damen responded in a voice quiet and patient.

Laurent took a deep breath.

“Are you bothered by my being in your presence like this?” asked Damen.

“I just…didn’t think this would actually happen. It’s become very real,” said Laurent quietly. “I suppose that it’s all you’ve been able to think about since you got here.”

Damen snorted softly. Besides his hand on Laurent’s thigh, they weren’t touching. Their knees hovered careful inches from each other, as did their hips and shoulders. “Not actually,” came his reply. “Sensuality isn’t one of your most prominent traits. I think you must keep it under all those heavy, intricate coats.”

Now it was Laurent’s turn to snort in response. “Your bedside manner needs some work I think. Is that supposed to turn me on? You’ll have to do better than that.”

The tension within Laurent had begun to dissipate as they spoke, and Damen’s fingers had found their way slightly higher up Laurent’s thigh until his hand was underneath the edge of Laurent’s nightshirt and his fingers ghosted over the place where Laurent’s thigh met his hip.

“Will I?” Damen asked, the corners of his lips turning up as he dared to reach between Laurent’s legs to the place where Laurent was showing his interest in earnest.

Laurent sucked a breath between his teeth at the feel of Damen’s fingers. “It’s been a while,” he said, after a moment. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he continued, trying to sound unaffected, but he couldn’t keep the slight smile of pleasure off his face.

“I would never,” Damen said. “I’ll let you do that for me.”

Laurent turned to look at Damen. “We’ll see about that.”

A grin broke across Damen’s face as Laurent pushed him back onto the bed. Damen wouldn’t be in his bed tomorrow, but he was now, and Laurent figured that he might as well enjoy himself in the moment and think about the consequences later—something he never did.

“Kiss me,” Damen said in the moment of passion.

Above him, Laurent hesitated. It had been a very long time since he had kissed anyone.

“You know how, surely?” Damen asked, in an almost teasing manner.

“What? Yes,” Laurent said quickly, masking his trepidation.

Damen brought his hand to Laurent’s waist as Laurent slowly leaned down, bringing his face close to Damen’s. Damen smelled musky in a way that Laurent hadn’t expected to enjoy. The scent—the realization of the intimate closeness of another person—made Laurent slightly dizzy. He closed his eyes, tipping his chin up to bring his lips to Damen’s. Laurent’s kiss was delicate, hesitant. Beneath him, Damen responded enthusiastically, returning the kiss with the proficiency of a much more practiced lover. Laurent cautiously let the kiss deepen, his lips parting and tongue endeavoring to explore Damen’s mouth. Damen’s hand traveled up Laurent’s back, pushing up the nightshirt, as he welcomed the deepening of the kiss fervently.

In contrast to his usually controlled nature, Lauren found himself pressing his hips and the heat of his cock against Damen’s body in a way that was both desperate and unrestrained. He realized, with some embarrassment, that he was much less composed than he had expected himself to be in the situation.

Damen’s leg slid up between his thighs, and Laurent couldn’t help but let a small gasp of pleasure escape his lips as his cock brushed against Damen’s thigh. Laurent broke away from the kiss, his eyes squeezed shut as he dropped his head, his hair spilling onto Damen’s chest. Laurent thought that he could have found his pleasure just like that, grinding back into Damen’s thigh, Damen’s hands on his hips.

“Nn--! Damen,” Laurent panted, not realizing how quickly his breathing had increased. “I can’t…we haven’t—ahh!”

“It’s all right,” Damen insisted. “You can.”

Laurent shook his head, extricating himself from Damen’s arms to the disappointment of both of them. “I can’t…” He sat on his knees on the bed, catching his breath. “You haven’t even undressed.”

In all fairness, neither had Laurent, but his nightshirt was pushed up and disheveled more so than Damen’s chiton. Damen quickly remedied that discrepancy, unpinning his chiton at the shoulder and drawing on the string that fastened it at the waist. The fabric dropped away, pooling on top of the bedspread next to Damen’s legs.

Laurent’s gaze instinctively dropped between Damen’s legs and any progress he had made in catching his breath was quickly lost.

“Now you’re the one who’s overdressed,” said Damen. “Allow me.” He reached out, taking the edge of Laurent’s nightshirt in his hands.

Laurent lifted his arms above his head and allowed Damen to take the shirt off over his head. He shivered as his body became exposed to the air and Damen’s eyes. He gazed back at Damen’s own nudity, reaching a hand out to caress his chest.

“You have done this before?” asked Damen, clearly taken by the appearance of Laurent’s timidness and innocence.

“Yes,” Laurent pushed down the urge to pull away and cross his arms, arguing semantics with Damen. Instead, he crawled closer, placing his other hand on Damen’s thigh. “As I said, it’s been a while.”

Damen pulled Laurent into his lap, their cocks brushing against one another. Laurent’s eyes fluttered at the sensation. Damen’s fingers trailed down Laurent’s spine, brushing the place where Laurent so badly wanted him.

“Do you have—”

Laurent interrupted, pressing a vial against Damen’s chest.

“Yes,” Damen said.

“Yes,” Laurent echoed, confirming everything that Damen was thinking.

Damen slicked his fingers and pressed them against the outside of Laurent’s entrance again. “Here?”

Laurent nodded, his fingers digging into Damen’s shoulders, their chests pressing together.

Damen pressed in one finger, then another. He moved his fingers in gradual circles just within, gradually pressing them in deeper and deeper until they brushed over the place of Laurent’s pleasure.

Laurent’s hand tightened on Damen’s bicep where it rested, and he clenched his jaw to keep from making a truly obscene sound at the sensation that shot through his body as Damen moved his fingers back and forth over the bundle of nerves.

Damen slowly withdrew his fingers to the very rim, circling there before pressing them back into Laurent. He continued this for several moments until Laurent could bare it no longer and let out a moan of pleasure. A small smile came across Damen’s face. “Was that so hard to admit?”

Laurent looked down at Damen through slanted eyes. “I wouldn’t want to make it too easier for you,” he quipped, although it was becoming more and more difficult to concentrate on anything other than the sensation of Damen beside him, and below him, and of his fingers within him.

When at last Damen removed his fingers, satisfied that Laurent was stretched and comfortable enough, Laurent frowned at the sudden sensation of emptiness. The lack of sensation distracted him long enough for Damen to trade positions with him.

Laurent’s breath was momentarily taken away as he found himself rolled onto his back, Damen above him, his arms braced on either side of Laurent’s head.  
“You are certain about this?” Damen asked, slotting himself between Laurent’s legs, which Laurent instinctively brought up around Damen’s waist. Damen brought his hands to Laurent’s thighs, running them down toward Laurent’s waist and up his chest.

“Must you continue asking?” replied Laurent, testily.

Damen nodded, bending to kiss the inside of one of Laurent’s thighs.

Laurent let out a small sigh. “Yes, I’m certain.”

Damen’s fingers returned to Laurent’s entrance, accompanied by the hot, weighty presence of his cock.

Laurent drew in a breath, his hands reaching for Damen’s waist, longing to find purchase in order to keep from losing himself.

Damen looked up at Laurent, still holding himself just beyond Laurent’s reach.

Laurent nodded his head, a silent answer to the unspoken question in Damen’s eyes.

As Damen began the slow press into Laurent, his body came to meet Laurent’s fingertips. Laurent tipped his head back, taking in a deep breath as Damen continued his slow, progressive push until he had buried himself totally within Laurent.

Damen leaned down over Laurent so that their faces were almost touching. His arms came around Laurent’s back, bringing their chests to touch and before Laurent could think about anything else Damen’s lips were upon his. Damen’s hips began moving in slow, gyrating pulses, gradually getting Laurent used to his presence and size and slowly picking up a steady rhythm.

Laurent’s fingers moved from Damen’s hips to twine in his hair, massaging the back of Damen’s head as he and Damen traded gasping breaths and passionate kisses.  
Laurent had envisioned Damen to be a lover of brutal pace and rigor, but that was not the case. Damen moved with the sort of slow, intentional focus of someone who wanted to take their time and savor the moment as it was instead of rushing things along to their ultimate conclusion.

“Gods, you are beautiful,” Damen said, breaking away from Laurent’s kiss to gaze down at him.

Laurent blushed in response, moaning as Damen’s cock found the sensitive bundle of nerves within him and rocked against it at a languid pace that gave him great pleasure.  
Laurent lost track of the time in Damen’s arms. It seemed that everything was happening so quickly and yet every kiss, every caress, every thrust was drawn out as they consumed Laurent’s attention.

Damen didn’t thrust into Laurent as if he were some inanimate thing, something Laurent was used to and expecting, instead they rocked together, coming to find their pleasure as one instead of two halves fighting against each other to finish first. Near the end, Laurent began to lose himself entirely. His fingers digging into the flesh on Damen’s back, leaving long, red marks raking across the skin, he couldn’t help but mutter Damen’s name and the word yes over and over as Damen expertly stimulated his most sensitive areas. When he finally came, Damen’s name on his lips, it was solely by Damen’s presence within him, a sensation that Laurent had never experienced and that seemed to touch him to the very center of his being.

In the post-coital haze that followed after, Laurent was faintly aware of Damen beside him, stroking his hair as he closed his eyes and relaxed into the bed. Speaking to him gently, Laurent flushed and laughed breathlessly alongside him as Damen brought Laurent’s hand alongside his own to bring him to his finish as well.

Being embraced in Damen’s arms, the over-sensitive feeling of sex on his skin after making love, was not something that Laurent was used to. Certainly, it was something he could get used to, but as he shut his eyes and brought his head to rest in the crook of Damen’s shoulder, beside him on the pillow, he was reminded that this was only tonight’s fantasy, not tomorrow’s reality. However, even that thought couldn’t completely tarnish the contentedness and pleasure that surrounded him in Damen’s warmth as he found his way peacefully to sleep.  
 


	4. Or This

The early morning sun roused Laurent while Damen was still soundly asleep. Laurent took in Damen’s profile, illuminated by the sun, the gentle rise and fall of his chest in a peaceful, sleepy rhythm. Laurent was used to waking up to the chill of the house in the early morning, but with Damen beside him he found that he was pleasantly warm. This was something that Laurent could find himself getting used to, which is exactly why he forced himself to get out of bed, to dress, to not stay comfortable. Laurent tested the air of Damen’s spell. There was no sense of the driving, consuming energy of a compulsion spell, although Damen’s ward against magic was still intact. Laurent furrowed his brow, wondering how that was possible. Nonetheless, the curse was lifted and Laurent felt…empty. He snagged a piece of parchment off the bedside table and wrote Damen a brief note on it.

_Don’t hate me for what we’ve done. Remember why we did it: so that you can return to the life you had before me. I only ask one thing: don’t tell anyone about me._

He didn’t bother to sign the note in any way, leaving it on the bedside table where Damen would see it before slipping away to the root cellar.

Laurent went to attend to Auguste out of necessity. Tonight was the last quarter moon and there was a lot that he had to do if he wanted to ensure that next full moon’s ritual was more successful than the last. He propped open the cellar doors and descended the steps into the cool below ground room. He tried not to think about Damen, waking up in the house, realizing how he had been taken advantage of, leaving the house feeling even more empty than it had been to begin with.

Laurent leafed through his notes on the workbench, trying to get his mind off of it and determine where to begin preparing supplies. His vision became blurry as he felt his eyes well up with tears, though he felt frighteningly rational. These were just the emotional effects of heartbreak, Laurent told himself as he leaned his back against the wall and slid down to the floor. These feelings would pass in time, he reminded himself, and he would raise Auguste from the dead and finally be able to say that he was happy again. Laurent brought his hands up to his face, laughing at himself as he cried, realizing just how ridiculous it all was. In another life, he and Damen might have been perfect for each other, both young princes excited by politics and foreign trade, but that was not this life. In this life, Laurent suffered.

Laurent rose and moved to tend to Auguste. He moved his hand through his brother’s hair, which he had restored to its golden, silken texture. This wasn’t really his brother, this was an empty shell of a man who had once been, and Laurent was a fool if he thought he could fix what had been done. He couldn’t even fix himself, he couldn’t even break a compulsion spell properly, how could he expect to raise the dead?

Laurent was so predisposed with the troublesome matter of the corpse in front of him that he didn’t hear footsteps coming down the cellar stair, he didn’t see the figure standing in the doorway until they cleared their throat.

Laurent’s head snapped up, his golden hair falling around him in rivulets, his cheeks stained with tears, his hands on the corpse of the dead Prince of Vere. Damen stood in the doorway wearing only a pair of cream colored pants. They gawked at each other in silence until Laurent finally spoke.

“You’re supposed to be gone,” Laurent said, prying into the magical energy in the air and checking that—yes—he had been correct, Damen’s compulsion spell was lifted, yet his curious ability to see through glamours remained. “Your curse is lifted. Why haven’t you left?”

“I didn’t want you to miss me,” Damen replied, which didn’t seem like the right thing to say given their strange circumstances, but then again nothing really seemed to fit the situation.

Laurent pulled the blanket back up over his brother’s body.

“If I’m not mistaken, isn’t that the body of the missing dead Veretian Prince that you have in your root cellar?” Damen asked.

“Yes, it is,” Laurent said hotly, staring at Damen from across the corpse. “I see that your memory has returned.”

Damen nodded. “I also haven’t forgotten about last night.”

Laurent wiped his cheeks with the back of his sleeve and smoothed his hair back behind his ears. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I know who you are. I remember you, Laurent, Prince of Vere…though no one else seems to.”

Laurent felt like he was holding his breath. He pressed his lips together to keep them from gaping open.

Damen took a step closer, into the low room, lowering his head to keep from hitting it. “I still feel something,” he said quietly, extending his hand across the table, offering it to Laurent to take.

Laurent slowly reached across, his fingers gingerly meeting Damen’s, feeling Damen’s warm hand wrap around his own.

“Can we maybe take this conversation somewhere else?” Laurent asked, gesturing to the corpse on the table.

 

Back inside the house, Laurent meant to sit down at the kitchen table, but somehow, he ended up back on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. Damen stood in the doorway.  
“You’re a prince, you shouldn’t be here,” Laurent said, daring to look back up at Damen.

“So are you,” Damen said, coming to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. “I saw a portrait, probably of your brother, but I thought it was you. I asked about you. I asked your uncle where the Prince of Vere was. Everyone acted like they had no idea who I was talking about. They all said the Prince of Vere was dead, and that I shouldn’t bring up such a topic, and when I said I was talking about the other prince, the younger prince…it was like I had made a mistake, and then…well, you know the rest, and here we are now.”  
He felt Damen’s arm make his way around his waist and, despite himself, he leaned into Damen’s warmth.

“I’m not a prince,” Laurent said finally.

“But you are. You are the Prince of Vere. You’re the heir to the throne. You’re meant to be king,” Damen protested.

Laurent shook his head. “I haven’t been a prince in a decade since my uncle threw me out and erased me from existence because he was afraid of my power. I’m not a prince.” He laughed, then. “And here I am trying to raise my brother from the dead as if going back in time to when he was alive in moving forward at all.”

Damen kept his arm around Laurent, his fingers massaging fine circles on his hip.

“It’s my fault that you’re here. That you’ve been here this long. I knew from the day you arrived that if I just let you bed me then you would forget about me, but I was selfish.”  
Damen opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it swiftly at the sight of Laurent’s stern face.

Laurent stood up and began pacing the length of the room. “You have to go back…your kingdom needs you. I was already selfish once and wasted all this time, I won’t be selfish again.”

“It’s hardly selfish to desire someone’s company when you live alone,” Damen said, quietly. “And my kingdom has my brother. I’m not next in line for the throne.”

“Maybe you should be,” Laurent said. “I’ve heard of his reputation and he doesn’t seem to be half as compassionate as you. He doesn’t seem like a king.”

“And you don’t seem like a hermit.”

Laurent turned on his heel, holding himself rigid as he looked at Damen at length. He thought back to the past weeks. He had been happier with Damen around than he had been in a long time. It wasn’t the happiness of his childhood, but Laurent realized that there was no going back in time.

“I don’t want to face my uncle again. Things are easier this way. He stays in power, I stay out of the way,” Laurent said, walking out of the bedroom. He felt lightheaded, in need of a warm drink.

Damen pushed himself up off the bed to follow Laurent. “Laurent…”

“You go back to your kingdom. I go back to my magic.”

“And do what?”

Laurent shakily placed the kettle on top of the woodstove, snapping his fingers to bring it to life.

“Raise your brother from the dead? And then what?”

Laurent stood with his back to Damen, pressing the palms of his hands firmly against each other. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, after thinking for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“You belong on the throne, you belong in the palace,” Damen gave a curt laugh. “Gods, you know more about foreign policy and trade then the Regent and my brother combined, you’d be a great king.”

Laurent turned to look at Damen. “So we just forget about this? I go magically become king and you go back to being a prince from a foreign nation and it’s like this never happened?”

“It was one kingdom once,” Damen said, extending his hand to Laurent. It was all he said, but it spoke volumes. _Trust me,_ it said. Laurent hadn’t trusted anyone in a long time. I want this, it said. Laurent couldn’t remember being wanted. _Come with me,_ it said, and Laurent wanted to do that very badly.

Laurent let out a long breath.

“One kingdom,” he said. _Together._

Damen nodded. _Together._

“Nothing less?” he said. _You’ll stay with me even if we fail._

Damen nodded again. “It’s what you deserve.” _Always._

Laurent slowly reached his hand out, taking Damen’s hand into his own. He nodded at Damen.

 

**ONE YEAR LATER**

Laurent stood on the balcony of the palace in Akielos. It was winter, which meant Vere was bitterly cold and blanketed in snow. Akielos, on the other hand, was still pleasantly warm. A gentle breeze tickled the back of Laurent’s bare neck. He had cut his hair short after Auguste had been reinstated in the royal tomb, finally letting the weight of his brother’s life off his shoulders. It also gave Damen better access to the delicate skin on Laurent’s neck, and he never failed to press a kiss to the nape or just below Laurent’s jaw whenever they had a private moment.

Damen had proven to be quite the strategic mastermind, even more intelligent than Laurent could have imagined from their conversations at his cottage. He had managed to sneak Laurent back into the palace in Vere which allowed Laurent to finally locate the source of the spell that had erased him from the history of Vere. After that, it was a just a matter of Damen stalling while Laurent worked on a counter-curse and protective spells to ensure that once the curse was lifted it would stay that way. There had been an outcry from the public when everyone had awoken one morning to the realization that there was actually a second prince of Vere, a prince that had been erased from their memories, a prince who had been shirked his right to the throne. The revelation from Damen that he had been cursed by his brother in an attempt by Kastor to seize total power of Akielos merely added fuel to the fires of rebellion, and the majority of both royal parties and guards quickly sided with the young princes.

Laurent took in the view of the surrounding countryside. He would have never dreamed of going to Akielos, but now he and Damen had decided to split their time between Akielos and Vere, staying in Akielos in the winters and Vere in the summers, until their joint palace on the border was finished.

“Enjoying the view?”

Laurent turned to see Damen approaching him on the balcony with two goblets. He accepted one, taking a sip of the cool wine. “It’s adequate,” he said, looking back over the countryside. “I like this view better,” he said, looking at Damen.

Damen wrapped his arm around Laurent’s waist, pulling their bodies together and pressing a kiss to Laurent’s neck. “I like this view too.”

“Nikandros was looking for you,” Laurent said, his voice distorted by the press of Damen’s lips against his throat.

“I know,” Damen mumbled into his neck.

“You’re supposed to sign some papers to finalize the approval of the cloth imports from Vere,” Laurent continued, setting his wine down on the balcony railing before he spilled it all over his tunic.

“I know,” Damen mumbled again, pressing another kiss behind Laurent’s ear. “I saw him on my way here, he tried to get my attention. I pretended not to see him.”

Laurent felt Damen smirk against his neck. “I think that was a fitting choice,” he said, astutely.

“Papers can wait,” Damen said in agreement, pulling away from Laurent to look at him and brush a lock of blonde hair back from his eyes.

“Can Nikandros wait?” Laurent asked.

“He’ll have to,” Damen replied, smirking again.

Laurent returned his smile warmly.

Damen tipped his head towards the bedchambers behind them. “Shall we? I’ve heard that you’re magical in bed.”

Laurent pulled away from Damen, rubbing his eyes with his hands to keep from rolling them. “Ugh, maybe not.”

Damen laughed, the sound of his voice washing over Laurent like a babbling brook. “Come on…come to bed.” He paced towards the entrance to the chambers.

“It’s just shy of midday,” Laurent said, somewhat incredulously. Damen’s stamina really was a marvel to Laurent.

“And so?” Damen drank the rest of his wine in one easy gulp.

“We have diplomatic meetings after lunch, which I imagine is to be served soon.”

Damen shrugged. “There’s time.”

“Oh, really?” Laurent raised an eyebrow at Damen.

“I always have time for you,” Damen replied softly, offering Laurent his hand.

Laurent glanced down at the calloused skin of Damen’s warm palm. He slowly interlaced his fingers with Damen’s, feeling the warm pad of Damen’s thumb run across his knuckles.

“It’s what you deserve,” Damen’s voice said again, softly, close to Laurent’s ear.

A small smile spread across Laurent’s face, a smile that he would never have dreamed to experiencing months ago. He nodded, looking up into Damen’s eyes. “Thank you,” was all he could manage to say before Damen had their bodies pressed together from toe to crown, his arms wrapped around Laurent’s back in an embrace that grown to be familiar to Laurent.

It was one kingdom once, and so it was again, and so it would be for as long as Laurent had anything to say about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read this little fic! Perhaps someday I will revisit it and give it the true edit that it deserves (something that being at university has not allowed me to do) but for the time being I'm happy with how it turned out! Reblog it [here](http://archaicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/180273359574/the-invisible-prince-tuershen-captive-prince) on tumblr!


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